


the server

by unrequited_heartbreak



Series: sav's dreamsmp drabbles [2]
Category: DreamSMP
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Drabble, DreamSMP - Freeform, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Villain Wilbur Soot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrequited_heartbreak/pseuds/unrequited_heartbreak
Summary: a collection of short drabbles about the members of the smp
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: sav's dreamsmp drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047190
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47
Collections: Other Fanfoms





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoy :)

_am i the villain?_ asks the underdog, and the martyr is silent.

he remembers an ocean, somewhere, nowhere. the ocean is wine dark, salt crusted stones litter the beach, and gulls fly in their frenzied, free circles overhead. there is a boy and a man, and the endless stretch of lilac-sweet sky above them.

the martyr is silent.

he remembers pain; the ache of tears about to spill, the breathtaking, heart wrenching chill of a blade. when an arrow goes through your chest, you feel the air slipping through your skin to your lungs. there is a boy and a bow, and a bandaged promise for freedom.

the martyr is silent.

he remembers a jumble of sharp words, and another, and another. barbed insults, jokes that sting like vinegar and poison the air, words he knows as soon as they reach his ears that he should take back, and actions to match them. there are two boys, and the dirt beneath them smells like rain-bathed gunpowder.

the martyr is silent. the underdog takes a breath.

_am i the villain in your history?_


	2. Chapter 2

He’s too late.

The underdog sits like his namesake, crumpled in a pile on the ground. Hand pressed against the smooth stone next to the button. Unstable.

There’s nothing but buzzing in his ears. He speaks, then he laughs, then he pulls himself up and presses.

The father leaps at him, tugging his hands away a second too late. The wall goes up in shrapnel and smoke.

Hushed tones bounce between them as sunlight shines through the dust onto their panicked faces. The underdog makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

The father presses his hand to the side of his son’s face, tears dripping down onto his shirt. He murmurs something.

The underdog coughs and splatters red. He smiles.

 _Thank you,_ he says, and the father tries to cut him off, but he continues, _I’m free._

(Somewhere, in another time, a tie is tied for the first time. Teeth are brushed and bedtime stories read. Two people sit together and laugh.)

A father sits alone, silent. He doesn’t move for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

The accomplice traces his hands across the curve of his dictator's shoulder, hands like marble and melting cotton candy fibers. He whispers soft reassurance into his ear, tells him that he is in the right, he is their hero, he is their savior. He speaks the words with a wide smile as if he’s not saying them half to himself.

The dictator knows that he is the villain. He purses his lips, leans into the hand that now rubs gentle circles into his back. He lets the accomplice tell him otherwise anyway.

The mercenary pulls back his crossbow with careful fingers and dead eyes. The dictator smiles sharply, urges him on. The accomplice watches, eyes narrow and mouth downturned. The boy’s voice fills the air, soft and pleading, and the mercenary lets loose his ammo.

For a split second, in the haze of colored powder, the accomplice meets the gaze of his dictator. Welling up from somewhere deep, fear spills out onto the man's face, and the accomplice’s lips barely form his name before the whole world goes up in white.

The dictator laughs, a pained and jagged thing. He clings onto a broken bottle like a lifeline. Tangled, wild hair paints a halo above his head. He’s drunk.

 _I never loved you, you crazy fucking bitch,_ he says, voice strained and high, desperate to have the last word, and the accomplice tenses. He knows that the words are crafted to hurt him. He thinks that maybe that should make them hurt less. In the dead of night, cradled by the stillness of the ash-thick air, he confesses to nobody that it made them hurt more.

**Author's Note:**

> here's a complete list of all the titles used (and to be used) and the characters they line up with 
> 
> the underdog - wilbur  
> the martyr - tommy  
> the mercenary - techno  
> the boy - tubbo  
> the father - phil  
> the dictator - schlatt  
> the accomplice - quackity  
> the baker - niki  
> the friend - ranboo  
> the citizen - karl  
> the traitor - eret  
> the spy - fundy  
> the god - dream  
> the king - george  
> the killer - sapnap


End file.
